We were poor; much of it was made worse by my stepfather’s alcoholism. My feelings toward him were complicated. During my senior year in high school, I went to school in the morning and worked full-time, second shift in the factory where he worked.  I wanted his approval, but I also resented him. I resented that I had to work, that I gave up sports and time with friends, that I had to buy my own clothes and help with groceries. Still, I wanted him to accept me as his son. I wanted him to be a father to me.